Strength Will Return Soon Enough
by TF141Soldier
Summary: Christine Royce is badly injured in a medical facility, deep in the heart of the Big Empty. A mysterious man manages to save her and tie up all of her loose ends, discussing philosophy with her in the meantime. Not romance! xD
1. Pain

Christine Royce, twenty-two years of age, Knight of the Circle of Steel and attempted assassinator of Father Elijah, could not believe how dark the world felt.

The blackness was total, an overwhelming absence of light. She felt the darkness all around her, in the air she breathed, in her clothes, even deep within her core she felt heavy darkness. At first, all she wanted was to be let off her medical examination table, to be let off from those robotic experiments, to be set free from this place – now, all she wanted was a speck of light, a speck of goodness in the evil that coated the hollow room. At the periphery of her consciousness, she heard and saw everything yet heard nor saw anything – the vague clicking of medical technology, the steady hum of an Auto-Doc, the robots… they could all have been unreal, for all she knew.

There was one undeniably real thing existing in that dark room: panic and fear. Her panic and fear.

After mere minutes of hearing the machinery and its monotonous beeping and ticking, Christine's mind slowly began to focus as she laid there, paralyzed. Christine's initial panic was beginning to give way to a sense of purpose, the very task at hand. Random muscles started to flex under her command, but she could not organize them. What had been done to her?

_Get those legs moving, and get them moving now. Off the bed, to the door, to somewhere, anywhere where I can get away!_

Minutes passed. Feeling rushed into Christine's left leg, and she was certain she could get the muscles to move. She focused all of her inner will and conviction in readying the limb for a quick move, to fling it off the mattress, letting her foot in the ground-

Pain. Searing pain shot through that very leg, an otherworldly feeling that was started to buzz inside of her entire being, a fantastic pain.

More clicking and humming. The medical machinery breathing and reveling in the darkness of the room. A faint groan from upstairs. Pain again as Christine vaguely moved her right leg – eating, devouring her mind.

_I have never believed in Hell… but it's here. If there is a Hell, it exists here!_

Suddenly, just as her thigh had reached the threshold of the mattress's left side, the emergency lights came on. Pop! Two dim beams that shot from the corners of the ceiling over the door; it was barely enough to see by. Christine examined her legs… nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing wrong – how well-formed her legs were.

Another faint groan from upstairs. Whatever was occurring above her, it wasn't going to reach her quite yet.

The minutes passed. Finally, finally, Christine got to a sitting position and dreadfully, agonizingly stood up. Her muscles were screaming, unused to such forced motion after being inactive and in desperate pain for so long; a cold sweat broke out from all over her, and heat was simultaneously spreading through her veins. Under the dim red light, the room was visible at last. This helped some of Christine's complete disorientation fade away. There was the bed, metal tables containing pill bottles, stimpaks, a chrome basin, an oxygen tank that had been disconnected long ago, and… a table. A table with some things… no, a holotape.

_As part of the Provisional Constitution, Section L, Paragraph 75 – Each member of the Circle of Steel is required to keep tabs on any excursions to distant lands, whether by holotape or journal._

_The pain… somebody please make it go away…_

_It's so dry in here…_

_Section L, Paragraph 75!_

She moved to the table, calibrating the distance and direction the whole way. Calculating how many steps she took, the pain-

_The fire!_

And then she had reached the foot of the table. On the table was her equipment – all of it. The faded, somewhat blood-stained Circle of Steel light armor, which still smelled faintly of oil. The meagre weapons she had brought-

_Springfield .45, Plasma Rifle, Laser Pistol, pain, pain, Paragraph 75…_

Christine grasped the holotape. _Can I even speak? Will I be granted my voice?_

She'd observed a holotape enough times to know the ritual – how to turn it on, how to stop it. Faint sounds from above, slightly louder. Her muscles squealing. Darkness, vague emergency lights. Click, hum… _click._

_Click._

"...This is Christine Royce."

A weak voice, but there – her vocal cords were okay, they worked but were parched and dry…

"Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel… the Circle of Steel, actually…" The tremendous amount of effort it took to talk, though, was almost too much to bear.

"Not going to make it through this, hope someone finds this message, gets it to the Brotherhood in the West. I have tracked down a rogue Brotherhood elder, Elijah, here, to the Big Empty."

Elijah. This was all his fault. All of it. The muscles, the faint noises that grew ever so subtly in intensity with each passing minute, the clicking and humming, the pain. With each word, talking became easier.

"Place is more than it seems, there's a crater hidden deep inside. Junkyard of pre-War labs scattered across the crater's surface, all still running... like this one. Elijah's dissecting these centers, one by one... I tracked him to an old Chinese-American internment camp… called it Little Yangtze. Survivors, ghouls, have bomb collars. Robots moved in when I tried to intercept him... Elijah sent the camp ghouls against us both, like walking bombs. Got hit by the explosions, woke up here. Guess the medical robots were programmed to bring wounded victims from the camp to this center."

_And I would happily take it all away…_

"Some kind of Auto-Doc prototype lab... manned by corpses trapped inside suits that keep them moving, no idea why."

Those corpses. Those hollow men who walked about, lifeless and insane, unable to comprehend reason or emotion or sense or idea, only prone to murder and madness and- _stop the pain, stop the pain…_

"Not sure how long I'm going to last... cut open my head like a lot of the humans I've seen here, feel strange, can talk… I have to leave this dangerous place, for…"

And then, before she could generate another thought, there was a great concussive bang, and a terrible roar that ended in a second explosion, louder than the first, bringing with it a deep, sonorous trembling, like an Earthquake. The room shook with the exertion of staying afoot, and Christine was met with the tremendous pain of falling on her back.

Horror, growing in intensity with each passing second. The room was expanding and was closing in on her all at once. An alarm started ringing. Only the alarm's harsh notes were reality. The holotape remained running.

"An explosion! Outside!" Little more than a croak. Christine felt… funny…

A hiss of equalizing pressure – the door. The door swung open into more darkness, but Christine could sense a solitary figure vaguely outlined in red and black at the threshold of the door.

"Someone…"

And then blackness. Soon enough, she wasn't reality either.

[*]

It was amazing how light the world felt to Christine.

At first, Christine believed she was dead. That's it – gone, entirely. To live is to die. Yet… everything Christine remembered before passing out had disappeared. The sounds of the alien alarm, the clicking and humming of the medical machinery, the door hissing open, the agony… all swept away.

It could be Heaven itself. Though heaven was awfully uncomfortable, being a rock floor and all.

Christine shifted restlessly on the floor, a rock pressing into her back. The air was vaguely fresh and genuine, not artificial as it was inside the medical facility… vaguely fresh. Vaguely. A cave.

She—

Suddenly, something invaded her vision. A hand extending a flask.

"Drink. Your strength will return soon enough."

[*]

TBC!


	2. Drink

"…"

"Drink," the stranger repeated, with emphasis this time. "The expression on your face indicates distrust, looking as though I am to poison you."

Lifting her head was out of the question; her bones felt heavy as iron despite the pain being gone. She had already deducted she was in a cave of some sort, the air cool and moist, and the only beings in said cave were her and the mysterious stranger, who continued to gaze at her with concern. Based on his shadow, the stranger was a big and imposing physical presence who moved around with a mixture of heft and lightness.

The stranger held the flask to her lips this time, getting the message. Christine tasted it as he poured it slowly into her mouth; crisp and cold, distinctly metallic in taste. How amazing, the taste of water.

Her tongue felt a bit heavy in her mouth. "Thank you…"

"Water - one of the few currencies and delicacies I have to offer. Think nothing of it." His voice was very, very deep. He turned to go and light a fuse in the cave, which illuminated his face. What Christine saw was a worn, lined face with a mouth set in an almost permanent thin line, dreadlocks hanging down neatly from his head. His duster was rugged and weather-beaten, telling of several years on the road. But it was the contemplative stare in his small eyes that interested Christine. Amazing.

"What… happened?"

"To put it simply, you were freed from the chains of evil that bound you."

"A little more plainly would be nice…"

"Perhaps you recall the explosion, shaking the ground?"

"Yes."

"My hands caused that."

All at once the memory coalesced in her mind. The mysterious person at the door – who else? It was that man. In the heat of the moment, Christine had blindly thought it was Elijah come to finish her off at last.

"Why?"

"You question my rescuing you?" Before Christine could answer, he went on. "The why of it matters, I suppose. Upon my arrival here, I saw the conflict – between the hunter and the hunted, the runaway and the mercenary. I observed your brief standoff, fierce and alone; I also observed how the hunted managed to elude you, managed to wound you. From thence, I rescued you."

Christine silently glanced at the man, wondering a million things at once, such as why he cared so much, why he found out, what he was doing there.

"You seem to have questions."

"Yes… Why are you here? And how did you get here?"

"Questions do have a habit of making others." He cleared his throat and began. "The road that brought me here – it was not a physical one, nor a rough one. The Divide is from which I come."

"The Divide?" Suddenly the worn expression made even more sense than before.

"Yes. A place barely clinging to the remnants of life, of America-that-Was. America-that-Was remains sleeping there, and it dreams of dust, ash, and lightning. Said storms were caused by man – by another flag. Following the weather patterns was not difficult – it led me here."

"Amazing. But what provoked you?" 

"To be frank, none of your business."

"I have a right to know."

The man chose not to answer this time. "You ask many questions. I can tell you come from under a flag, and therefore I have questions for you."

"Of course. Anything."

"Begin from whence this all started."

"H'm. Is that all?"

Gathering her thoughts, Christine began. She was a member of the Circle of Steel, a more freethinking and active extension of the Brotherhood of Steel – to which Ulysses did not need an introduction, he knew of them vaguely. One fine morning, the former Elder of the Brotherhood, Elijah, deserted the Brotherhood after a cataclysmic defeat trying to capture an NCR base, Helios One. From thence, Elijah began to leave a trail of crimes across the Mojave in his attempts to gather technology for himself, which he believed would change the world.

It was of paramount importance that Elijah be stopped, and Christine was the most capable woman for the job. She was dispatched to hunt him down, locating him at the Big Empty. It was easy to find out why Elijah came here – for how barren it looked on the surface, it was rife with scientific technology from the past, which was a golden chance for the opportunistic Elijah. Christine tracked him down and confronted him, but the Elder had well-prepared for this.

"…And so he used those… those ghouls from the internment camp to make his escape, along with a bunch of security robots. I tried to fend them off as best I can, but I hadn't cleaned my plasma rifle in a while and my laser pistol simply wasn't enough. I got blasted, and then… woke up in that room."

That awful room, full of pain and darkness.

"A man, hounded to the ends of the earth for his blind attempts to change the world. It sounds all too familiar."

Christine laughed, cynically. At least her throat felt better.

"You left a voice recording."

"You found it?!" 

"Listened, briefly. Electrodes were jammed into the skull?"

Christine winced, and tears sprang to her eyes. "Don't remind me."

He nodded, briefly. Suddenly, he rose from his position and wandered over to a trestle table that had been there for a while. From her position, all Christine could make out was a small tangle of wires which she assumed was a shortwave radio, though she wasn't sure. The man returned, carrying a book.

"You're… going to read to me?"

"Look at the cover."

Christine eased herself on her elbows, and glanced at the cover. A cross… but strangely, underneath some indecipherable words. A foreign language, perhaps? "The Holy Bible."

"Correct."

"Wait, wait! In what language is your Bible in?"

He gazed at her for a moment, and Christine could not make anything out of it. He began to turn some pages, some dust arising from its interior. "You know how to read?"

"Of course."

"Read this passage to me." He handed it to her, gingerly.

Christine took the book… and was shocked. These words had to be foreign – they were nothing more than garble. Too startled to even try to read, she skimmed over the two pages in her face, and found she simply could not read any of it.

"I have not been trained in many foreign languages. What does this word say?"

"After this."

"That's the English translation?"

"No. That's the English."

This worried Christine. "A-and this one?!"

"Covenant law."

"This one!"

"Opened."

"NO!" Christine flung the book into a nearby, rocky wall, and was satisfied by the resonating sound it made. Fear was present in her every core. _How?! How can this be possible? It was garbage!_

The stranger then put a thick piece of paper and breathed steadily. "Write something, anything."

Christine grasped the small pencil he handed her, and put it to the paper… and then stopped. How did one write? Suddenly her initial panic soared. After a while, all she could manage was: "I can't."

"The evil has possession of your brain's functions. The electrodes ate away at your skull, and it appears one of the side effects is that you cannot read nor write…" For once, emotion came through the man's voice.

Her frustration boiled over. "What?! No, you're _wrong_! That's not possible, your deductions aren't correct! I know how to shuffle a deck of cards, I know y equals mx+b, I know exactly how tall I am, I… you're wrong! Wrong!"

Christine then stayed silent, as did the man. It was unbelievable – reading and writing, two of the most valuable possessions and talents to have in the Wasteland, taken away from her in an instant. _I can still do math, and equations, and think and think and think…_

"I am sorry. Perhaps the ability to observe the written word and to even write said word will return to you."

"…Perhaps. I just… please. Help me."

"Old scars do not heal quickly, but fresh wounds can be fixed with enough care. Leaving this place is not recommended – too much danger, for one so wounded. Don't need medicine to tell me that. Wait for a spell, a few days – then perhaps you will gain your strength back."

"Very well. Thank you. I only… have one question."

"Hm?"

"What is your name?"

"Ulysses. At least that's what it is now."

"What was your name beforehand?"

"It has been too long to remember."

[*]

Time – it was amazing how time changes things, how it heals and how it scars.

Christine grew stronger by the day, but leaving the Big Empty was out of the question. Color grew back to her face eventually, as life did to her mood. She and Ulysses rested in individual sleeping bags most of each day, awakening at dusk to eat and talk and assess her condition. She would ask to be taken outside sometimes, which Ulysses allowed only briefly. He understood how she felt each time they went outside for only a moment, gazing at the gyring stars in the night sky, finally free of being in the cool cave. But these tiny excursions never lasted long, for she would complain of hurt and return inside.

There would be days such as these, Ulysses knew, when her exterior cracked as the pain or the memories ate at her and she would simply have to remain strong when strength and raw will was her one valuable possession. Yet, Christine was generally content and very intelligent.

Somewhat argumentative, as well.

Ulysses and Christine were eating – breakfast for them, though it was fairly late at night – and it was one of these nights that he was aware of her ability to discuss philosophy.

"I don't really want to argue philosophy with you right now," Christine groaned as she took a bite. "Brotherhood are preservationists. Tech in the wrong hands, it's dangerous. Mojave's proof."

"No denying that," Ulysses said, all without glancing at her as he sat at the trestle table, eating. "Proof's here in this crater, all around us. Your tribe, the Brotherhood - haven't met many of you. Wanted to. Thought you might be the last chance for the Mojave... the West. The East."

He took a drink of water. "But you're all the same mind, obsessed."

Christine snorted, and Ulysses presumed she look at him with derision. "_Elijah_ is obsessed. Mad. It's why they ordered his execution."

"Two are more alike than you believe, wrapped up in the wrong bits of history to see ahead."

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Ulysses continued. "Not judging. I understand how it is. People are like… _couriers_, you and him. Sometimes don't even know the message they bring. You all had a new flag. Thought maybe new ideas along with it. What you believe isn't any better than the Bear or Bull. No future in either."

"Hmph. So says the man with the Old World flag on his back," Christine teased. "America, the Commonwealth... burned away."

At last, Ulysses turned to her and set a steady gaze on her, one of contemplation. "America sleeps. And until it's dead, I carry it. Just like I carried you. More than hope. Belief."

That silenced Christine, considering this claim with an expression between being puzzled and wholly understanding what he was talking about. Ulysses leaned back in his chair, eyeing the tin cup of water.

_Yes, akin to how I carried you. From the facility… from the Elder._

One evening, Ulysses ate through his dinner quickly. "There's voices here in the Big Empty, I want to talk to them."

Christine looked as though she was unsure of what to make of this. The sky had darkened from purple to black. Stars by the hundreds, the moon's flickering light passing into the cave; no sounds at all except for their own voices. It was a good night, the kind of weather Ulysses preferred – it was weather in which he could think coherently.

"…Voices?"

"Not going to talk to them like your Elijah did. Got questions. Want to hear history give its answer."

She stared at him, dumbfounded, and could only laugh. "What are you…"

"There are loose ends in both your conflict and mine, and I plan to solve them tonight. Fix our problems."

He gathered materials in a thin knapsack: water, some food, a meagre amount of weapons and, interestingly, Christine's broken plasma rifle.

"…Ulysses?"

"Something else in you needing an answer?"

"Return safely."

"An empty promise. But I will attempt to. Get some rest."

Ulysses departed. His gaze fell on the fantastically huge dome that pierced the sky. Though he was unsure of the time, experience told him it was a little after one in the morning. Letting out a great, final sigh, he began his excursion to the dome, wanting to see what this world contained.

[*]

_TBC! Let me know what you guys think. _


	3. A Fitting Punishment

History had a fascinating way of leaving things from the past behind. They could very well of been the smallest of things, or the biggest, but relics from America-that-Was were always a source of fascination with Ulysses. The massive Think Tank was one of them.

It did not Ulysses long to locate an elevator door, with the electronic slogan THINK TANK directly next to it. The doors slid open and he pressed the button. The car began its slow ascent to the main laboratory, the pressure dropping as it rose. As Ulysses calmly waited, a small tune of piano music played, upbeat and light-hearted yet quite appropriate for nighttime.

Ulysses pondered over what he would discover. Scientists with great ideals and stunning intellect? Crazed men far beyond insanity, reveling in madness? Perhaps neither of the two – perhaps no one existed, though Ulysses quickly thought otherwise: there had to be something running this world, under the Big Empty's torn, ragged flag. And whoever did so needed to answer for some of his, her, or… its, actions.

Right before the button reached the second level for the Think Tank, he glanced at the door. It looked heavy, made of gleaming steel. Like a vault. Beyond that vault lied a secret that likely few people saw; as it was, getting past the ghouls and robots was difficult enough for Ulysses. Danger was a familiar sight to him – he lived in danger, had done so his whole life. But whereas danger was constant as change and time themselves, secrets were not so constant – secrets were rare. And sometimes there are things best left alone.

Ulysses felt his ears pop and the pressure dropped again and the door opened, revealing a sloped walkway, leading into the main laboratory. It was a bluish light… light blue. Ulysses stepped through and made his way up the walkway, feeling a strange calm wash over him.

And was immediately stopped when the blue lights turned red. And as he stood in the center of the Think Tank itself, he stood face to face with whom ran the Big Empty itself… and the answer was fascinating.

"_Who the hell is __**this**__ lobotomite?!_"

[*]

Five of them. Precisely, five. But five of… what?

Ulysses stood there, observing the five robotic… creatures that confronted him. They had the appearance of being both meticulously constructed and hastily put together. Each had a sphere-shaped robot body, and inside said sphere was a singular brain, full and functioning – all that was blocked out by the fact that the brain was connected to three monitors, two of which resembled eyes and one with the projection of lips.

He wasn't afraid.

Though they were very, very annoying.

"_Beware, vile lobotomite! You now stand in the presence of the mighty Think Tank, a sight in which very few other lobotomites have seen! Now prepare for instant __**death!**_" The robot who emitted this stood in the center, an imposing figure, or so he tried to be – clearly the leader.

Before Ulysses could respond, another one spoke up, two spaces to the right of him. "Uh, Doctor Klein… the lobotomizing material was scrapped, remember? We had to do so for spare parts."

"_Shut up, Doctor 0! I am trying to instill fear in the lobotomite, and now my threat has taken a step backwards!_"

"Oh come off it! You're hurting my feelings!"

"_This is a scientific matter! Science has no need for wusses!_"

"I must say, you two, why must we fight in front of the curious teddy bear?" The one right next to Klein spoke up. Ulysses noticed it had the intonation of a woman's voice. _A seemingly disturbed woman's voice._

"_Dala! He is dangerous!_"

"On the contrary, he looks so… bear-ish. Like a teddy bear. Let us welcome him!"

"We have had too many visitors recently, it really rustles my servo motors! Damn foreign communists! I, Doctor Borous, hate you!"

"Shh, quiet Borous! The little teddy bear may be insulted by your speech."

"_I rule over all of you! Because I have the loudest voice!_"

"Yeah, and you don't know when to shut your mouth!"

"_You shut up, 0!_"

Rather than carry out their initial threat, the robots proceeded to bicker, voices clashing harshly with one another, jumbling into nothingness. Ulysses patiently waited for the scientists of the Think Tank to finish, gathering his thoughts and allowing the original shock to pass.

Suddenly, a burst of distorted noise rose from the robot directly to Klein's left. It was loud and sudden, very harsh phonemes pouring out of said robot in what amounted to nothing. During the deafening, quasi-monologue, Ulysses wondered why the robot's voice module was in desperate need of repairing.

The noise finished.

"…Guh, I suppose Doctor 8 is right," Borous grumbled, the screen shaking slightly.

"_Yes, yes, a very passionate speech. Now, all of you! Back to work! I will speak with the lobotomite alone!_" Klein bellowed this once again; were he human, spit could very well of soared into Ulysses' face. Reluctantly, the scientists returned to their stations and Ulysses stepped forward promptly to face Klein.

"I apologize for the commotion. They can get so rambunctious!"

"No need for apologies. I have dealt with discordance far louder and greater than mere bickering. Felt it."

"Huh. How about that!" Klein's monitors started to move around, rotating; it was precisely observing Ulysses, the 'lobotomite'. Even in the ambient glow of the room, a cool light seemed to shining from the very monitors Klein observed Ulysses with; Klein was very excited to have someone in the room.

"Well, now now, back to business. Tell me, why are you here to witness the great and incredible, collective geniuses of… we?!"

"A flag flies over the Big Empty now, torn and in need of repairing. I have to tie up loose ends."

"So your shoe is untied," Klein stated. "Geh, well at least you are quiet and respectable! The last lobotomite who waltzed in here managed to somehow break through the pacification barrier!"

That explained the calmness Ulysses felt inside. "Another man?"

"Yes! Elijah, I think! And he was a fiery one! He asked so many questions, too many to recount, so many that it befuddled our brains! He was a fellow who wanted to change the world in his own batshit manner, somehow. But completely logical deductive reasoning tells me he won't succeed!"

_After tonight, you can be certain of that._ "What did he ask?"

"Ah, I remember now, I remember all of it. He questioned the way of things, the nerve of him! The results of which were… painful!"

"Sometimes questions, remarks, even statements have power behind them."

"Precisely, old chap! His questions introduced all kinds of conclusions, new logic, new ideas, new philosophy into our systems that we had to take the natural cause!"

"Being?"

"Kill him, of course!"

"The pacification barrier?"

"Ah well, we weren't designed for fighting," Klein admitted embarrassedly. "But! We do have an arsenal of vivisectors, brainial beams, and a rather nasty WooEEEOooWooEEEOoo ray that can make your atoms do a happy dance!"

"The one without a voice, 8, was a result of Elijah's attack?"

"Oh yes. And he escaped before we could even activate the ray! My receptors just _boil with rage_ at the thought of that Elijah person!"

His monitors began to lightly shake again.

"I see. Tell me… what is the history of this lab?"

"Eh? One sec." After an audible second, "Ah yes, here are my memory banks. Ahem. See, we built this big huge dome in order to help sustain the future of mankind, through excellent scientific experiments and creation, by genetics and chemistry and physiology and every science and pseudoscience you can possibly conjure! All five hundred and seventy-eight of them!"

"Before the Great War. Before the very soul of America spoke."

"Correct you are! But, uh, a lot of our other staff was killed off by… by… er, they all had colds."

Ulysses gave a sideways glance to Klein, continuing to observe the lab. "And after that?"

"…Eh, I don't remember! But! We have been in conflict with the evil—"

"Who are you, that do not know your own history?"

Klein stopped entirely. An audible moment of silence followed, and Ulysses could feel the monitors of the other robots examining the conversation with him. While Ulysses had already learnt all he needed to know, questioning the how and the why of things felt natural. The stains of time had kept the Big Empty a secret for a very long time, forgotten by most. Everything here shone with technology, health, and newness – the almost fatalistic calm Ulysses possessed due to mere technology, the structure of the robots, the way the medical facility looked before its explosion.

Father Elijah's being here made perfect sense now. Ulysses looked dead-on at Klein.

"Where is Elijah now?"

"Oh, uh, let me… check the, things." Klein was quiet now. "Hmm… he's walking towards the Big Mountain North Tunnel. It's uh, northeast from here."

"Hm. I want to thank you for your time, and the answers."

"Oh, you're leaving? Ah! Well, goodbye now, melancholy lobotomite!"

"A map."

"Eh?"

"I request a map, of the Four Corners. Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado. In addition, I would like this plasma rifle repaired."

"Ah, certainly! Sure thing!" A moment of silence. "Doctor 8, please access the logs and find out what exactly a map is."

Ten minutes later both tasks were carried out. Ulysses carefully picked up the map. It surface was worn smooth, so brittle at its creases it may have dissolved in his hands. He gently placed it in his duster's interior, and then slung the newly-repaired plasma rifle over his back.

"Oh, wait! We must give you something before you go! It's likely that Elijah fellow will, uh, use the train if he escapes! So take this newly-crafted transporter. It's a one-way thing go – to the Mojave you'll go, to the Mojave you'll stay, my friend! Can't come back."

Klein presented Ulysses with the transporter – it was shaped like a comically oversized plasma rifle, except with blue for the plasma and painted in bright, friendly orange. "Very well. Best of your endeavors."

"Yes, yes, no time for goodbyes! Go on now. You're in your own time now."

Ulysses took his leave in the elevator.

"Doctor 0."

"Uh-huh?"

"Erase the question the man asked precisely thirteen minutes twenty seconds ago from my memory banks."

"Yes sir."

[*]

_Time._

It was funny, Elijah thought. Not funny ha-ha but funny strange, the whole idea and concept of time. Elijah had always thought it was a constant thing, always moving, never stopping, but it was actually another thing. It wasn't a line, but a circle, and even more. But if you drew a truly perfect circle, it would look like a straight, never ending line to your eyes. A line that indicated pure stasis, not a circle made of circles, each lying on top of the other. Just, a line.

Lines never changed. And that angered Elijah.

He knew this and he couldn't unknow it. Changing time itself was the only thing on Elijah's mind as he made his way to the Big MT North Tunnel, piles of energy weapons in his sack. He was ragged and disheveled, with a faint smell rising from him – though that could have been the still-smoking debris around him as he approached the tunnel. The cargo trains here still worked, as confirmed by one of those Think Tank whatsits.

Oh, it was such happiness, finding this place. It could have been the very future itself, and Elijah knew this. If the world would change, Big Empty was the place to instigate change. He would weep, weep with joy, weep with terror, weep weep weep…

Shot. A shot fired right next to his foot.

Perfect plasma.

[*]

Standing on a rock not much more than fourteen meters from Elijah was Ulysses, who had withdrawn the energy weapon from its place against its spine and fired. The feel of a newly repaired weapon pleased Ulysses – the way it would be cool to the touch, the faint smell of oil, and the sheer power it gave off once it was fired, as if it was untouched by time.

The two men stared at eachother, Ulysses' gaze cold and Elijah's fearful.

Slowly, Ulysses stepped forward.

"Who the hell are you," Elijah muttered, glaring dangerously at the hulking man. It was far too late to be dealing with this kind of crap. He extended his lantern as Ulysses approached him and slung the plasma rifle against the hollow of his spine.

"A fascinating place."

"Hm?"

"The Big Empty. A relic of the Old World, a slice of it – you can still smell the pride, see the devotion the people of America-that-Was put into the technology. A curio – a dangerous curio, but a curio nonetheless."

"Yes, yes it is."

"But who knows? Who knows what the world used to be? Who can say that history can be changed?"

Elijah merely stared at this man, appearing out of the black.

"My weapon, you know what it is?"

"Of course. A simple plasma rifle in mint condition, made by REPConn. Standard Brotherhood of Steel weapon, the cost is roughly around 800 caps. If it is in perfect condition, 1200, maybe more."

Ulysses nodded and gently took the lantern from the baffled Elijah, motioning it to his loaded knapsack carelessly. "It likely pales in comparison to what you have in there."

The former Elder gazed at him, all nervousness gone, replaced by a hunger to know what this powerful stranger wanted. Ulysses knelt down and dragged out one of the weapons from the sack – a long, narrow gun that was shockingly light in his hands, as though it defied gravity. Another one looked akin to a power fist, burning with power despite its blue appearance.

"Relics."

"Excuse me?"

"Even in the dim light of predawn, your weapons are corroded relics in comparison to what is truly out there."

Ulysses let his eyes roam the sky. The longer he looked, the more stars appeared to him, pushing their way through the blackness. The working dimensions of the world around and above him, past, present, and future.

"Those are dangerous words. Risky words. Upon examination, my friend, these weapons are the highest of tech," Elijah snarled.

"Slices. They are only slices of what is truly beyond the horizon."

His eyes twinkled, with a newfound, lusty hunger. "Tell me."

"Beyond this place lies another relic of America-that-Was. Sierra Madre, a flag that remains flying. It was meant to be a city of gold. Even when all of time ended, and the world would lose its memory, its flag, even the Bear and the Bull, Sierra Madre would have been left standing. It was meant to be a last resort – the very last bastion of America. Inside of the city, beyond the villa, is a vault. That Vault contains material no man has ever gotten to yet. While improbable to get to, it is possible."

Elijah ran his hand through his rugged hair, absorbing the information Ulysses told him. The minutes passed as Elijah struggled to think of a coherent response. It was a risky bet, Ulysses knew, but obsession and thirst for power won out eventually.

"How do I get there?"

Ulysses calmly took out his map and unfolded it, along with his pencil from long before. As the brittle page unfolded, he marked lines, positions, and tabs that led to a solitary spot, almost in the middle of the Four Corners. He cast the pencil aside, little more than a nub, and extended the map to Elijah, which he took graciously.

"Follow this lonesome path, and you will be sure to find it. Somehow, you'll find a way there."

_And it just may be the end of you._

He drew his attention away from Elijah and cast a meditative gaze on a faraway cave. Christine, Ulysses knew, would be hated. Ulysses' silence bringing an end to the conversation, he adjusted his duster, picked up the plasma rifle and moved down the path in the opposite direction.

Though shooting Elijah would have been so easy, this was a far more fitting punishment.


End file.
